Just A Taste of Vengeance
by Angie Cartwright
Summary: After Adam Cartwright is shot down by an old enemy of Ben Cartwright's, Joe swears to get even with the man who seriously injured his brother. Joe travels to Carson City in pursuit of Jed Clemens, his brother's would-be murderer. But after Joe manages to locate Clemens, things start to go wrong...One shot. *** Warning: *MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH *MILD LANGUAGE


The young man sat beside his older brother's bed, his eyes burning with  
unshed tears.

"I'll make him pay for this, Adam," he vowed to his unconscious brother.  
"I'll find him, and I swear to God I'll make him pay for what he did to  
you."

He was just a seventeen-year-old kid, but he knew how to handle a gun as  
well as anyone else, and almost everybody in town knew that though he was  
young, he was one of the fastest guns in Virginia City, Nevada.

Joe Cartwright stood up, giving Adam one last glance. He had a pretty good  
idea about who had shot his brother in the back and taken everything  
valuable he had had on him. Joe had been in the saloon with Adam, and  
recalled thinking what a sore loser the man had been.

—Two Days Previous—

Adam Cartwright laid his cards down on the table. "Full house, gentlemen."  
He grinned as he began collecting his winnings. He didn't make a habit out  
of playing cards like his youngest brother seemed to, but today was his  
birthday, and he'd made it an exception.

"You're a cheat," one of the players sitting across from Adam accused  
angrily.

Joe, who stood leaning against the bar sipping his beer, raised his  
eyebrows and grinned. Adam merely stood to his feet.

"Why don't you empty your pockets then, boy?" The man asked.

"I'm not emptying my pockets, Clemens," Adam said calmly. "You'll just have  
to take my word that I'm not cheating."

Clemen's hand flew to his side, but he never brought it up as he heard a  
gun click behind him. "Don't try it, Mister," Joe said from behind. "Or  
I'll blow your head off."

Adam took out Clemens' gun. "I don't think you'll be needing this anymore."

"You're a cheat and a liar," Clemen's said.

Joe turned angrily on him, his left fist raised, but Adam caught it.  
"C'mon, Little Joe," he said, taking his hotheaded young brother's arm and  
steering him toward the saloon doors.

"I'll make you pay for cheatin' me out of my money, Cartwright!" Clemens  
called after them.

—Present Time—

At the time, Joe had thought nothing of the threat. But that was two days  
ago, and a lot can happen in two days. And now, Joe Cartwright was out for  
vengeance.

His brother might die because some stinking lousy gunslinger couldn't stand  
to lose a few hundred dollars, and Joe wasn't about to let him get away  
with it.

—

Snow was falling heavily as he tied his horse to the hitch rail in front of  
the International House and walked into the hotel.

"Hi, Little Joe!" The clerk smiled from behind the counter. "Something I  
can do for you?"

Without returning the smile, Joe nodded. "Do you have a man named Jed  
Clemens registered here?"

"Jed Clemens?" The clerk echoed. "Used to. He checked out early this  
morning."

"Did he leave a forwarding address?"

"Sure did. I'll write it down for you." Scribbling down an address, the  
clerk handed it to Joe.

Taking it with a slight nod of thanks, Joe headed for the door.

"He a friend of yours?" The clerk asked as Joe pushed open the door.

Joe ignored the question and stepped out into the road, untying his horse  
and swinging into the saddle.

Joe Cartwright was too blinded by rage and vengeance to think that the  
forwarding address could have been left as a trap.

As he rode out of Virginia City in pursuit of his suspect, everything his  
father had ever taught him, especially moralism, was forgotten, and caution  
was thrown to the wind.

When Joe found Jed Clemens, he would shoot him down like a dog.

— —

It was dark when Joe finally reached Carson City. He was chilled to the  
bone and under most circumstances, he would have stopped by the saloon to  
get a cup of coffee. But, tired, cold, wet and hungry as he was, he stopped  
in front of the hotel on the address. Tying his horse up, he stepped in,  
welcoming the warmth coming from the fireplace. As much as he would like to  
go and sit in front of it, though, he walked straight up to the desk.

"Have you got a Jed Clemens registered here?" Joe asked, removing his  
gloves.

The young clerk glanced up. "Yep. Room 7." As Joe turned away, the clerk  
said, "Gosh, sir. You look half froze to death. Want a cup of coffee?"

Joe shook his head. "No, thanks." He climbed the stairs, snow falling from  
his hat and coat.

He located room seven and rapped loudly on the door. A moment later the  
door opened a crack and a pistol stuck out. "Who's there?"

Without giving his name, Joe said, "I want to talk to you." When Clemens  
still didn't open the door, Joe pushed it open himself, pushing past  
Clemens. "Said I want to talk to you."

Jed grinned at him. "Hey, I know you from somewhere, don't I? Now  
don't remind me." He snapped his fingers. "It's comin' back to me now.  
You're that young hotheaded brother of Adam Cartwright's, aren't you?  
That's right. Little Joe Cartwright." He clearly put an emphasis on the  
word 'little.'

Joe stuck his chin out indignantly. "I didn't come here to talk to you  
about my name, Clemens. I came to talk to you about my brother Adam."

By now, Clemens had holstered his gun. "What did he do? Send you out here  
to give me that money he cheated me out of? His conscience must be  
bothering him."

Joe's green eyes flashed angrily. "My brother doesn't know I came here. Frankly, right  
now he does't know anything because he's lying back home with a bullet in  
his back." Joe ignored the tears he felt welling in his eyes. "Dying. Dying  
because you couldn't stand to lose a few hundred dollars in a fair game."

Clemens stared at him, and then suddenly burst out laughing. "Are you  
accusing me of shooting your brother?"

For an answer, Joe's left hand flew to his hip, bringing out his  
ivory-handled pistol. "I sure as hell am. I'm gonna kill you for it."

Too late, Joe felt the presence of someone else in the room behind him.  
Before he could turn around, he felt something crash down on his head, and  
everything went black.

—

When Joe finally awoke, his head was pounding, and something was cutting  
into his wrists. As his head cleared, he realized that he was tied to a  
chair, and he was in a cold, dirty room, much unlike Jed Clemens warm motel  
room. It was dark and windowless, and the only other piece of furniture in  
the room was a rather old looking bed, which had almost as many cobwebs as  
the room it was in.

But the door leading out was open, and Joe could see two men sitting by a  
fireplace, drinking and talking. He tried to open his mouth to speak, only  
to find that something was tied tightly around it. Rolling his eyes in  
exasperation, Joe craned his neck to see if either man were Clemens. But  
their backs were to him, and it didn't seem they were going to turn around  
any time soon, so he finally gave up and sat back.

He began wriggling his wrists, hoping to loosen the ropes, when a voice  
from behind interrupted him; "There ain't no way you're gettin' out of  
those ropes, sonny boy."

Joe gave a start. The speaker was beyond a doubt Clemens. The two men in  
the other room glanced up. "See he finally decided to come to," one said,  
grinning.

"About time," the other said. "He's been out since last night."

Joe gritted his teeth angrily. Why did he have to be so impulsive all the  
time? All it had ever done for him was to get him in trouble.

Joe glanced up at Clemens came around to face him and took out a pocket watch.  
Joe knew Clemens was trying to stir him when he noticed 'A. Cartwight'  
engraved on the back of the pocket watch. Nevertheless, Joe kicked out his  
leg, catching Clemens in the shin. Joe didn't give a damn if Clemens was  
trying to start a fight or not. Right now, he was more than happy to oblige.

Clemens stumbled backwards, but was on his feet in no time. As he  
approached Joe, the boy stared defiantly up at him, fire flashing in his  
green eyes.

"Damn you, boy," Clemens said angrily. Joe closed his eyes expectantly as  
Clemens raised his hand. But the blow never came. He opened his eyes as  
Clemens said, "Untie him, Jake."

One of the men, apparently Jake, took out a knife, cutting the ropes on  
Joe's wrists. Yanking the gag from his mouth, Joe jumped to his feet. He was ready  
for this. He lunged madly at Clemens, busting him in the mouth as they both  
fell to the floor.

Grabbing Joe's shoulders, Clemens pushed him violently backwards. Joe  
landed on his back, his head striking one of the bed posts. He lay there,  
dazed, as Clemens approached him. He felt himself being yanked to his feet  
by his collar, and then several stinging blows to the sides of his face.  
Clemens shoved him roughly back into the chair. "All the fight out of you  
yet, hard-head?"

Wiping his bloodied lip with the back of his hand, Joe rose slowly to his  
feet. His head was spinning and he felt as though he might topple over any  
minute, but he steadied himself, looking Clemens squarely in the eyes. He  
ducked as Clemens swung at him. Grabbing Clemens' collar, Joe  
pulled him forward, clipping him in the jaw.

Clemens returned by landing several blows to Joe's midsection. Joe sank to  
the ground, gasping for breath. "Tie him up," Clemens muttered in disgust.

Joe set his jaw in determination. Before either Jake Moore or Matt Frielle  
could reach him, Joe was on top of Clemens. It took both Frielle and Moore  
to drag the boy, kicking and punching, off Clemens' back. Moore held him  
down by sitting on top of him while Frielle tied his ankles together and  
his wrists behind his back. Joe struggled, trying to wriggle out from under  
Moore, but when Clemens threatened to bust him over the head with his  
pistol, he abruptly stopped, and Frielle dragged him up against the wall.

The three men left the room. "Why don't we just kill the kid?" Joe heard Jake ask.

There was a pause. "I once knew the boy's father," came the reply.

Joe gave a start of surprise.

"He sent me to prison for murder about thirty-five years ago," Clemens  
continued. "I would have been hanged but my brother Howard risked his own  
life to rescue me. He...was captured by the boy's dad, and they hanged him.  
After that, I swore revenge on Ben Cartwright. Then one day I was passing through Virginia City, and by chance, I learned  
that Ben Cartwright and his three sons lived not thirty miles from town.  
When he sent me to prison, he wasn't even married...hell, he was no more  
than a kid.

Anyway, I got into a game of poker in the saloon, only to learn that one of  
the men I was playing with was his oldest boy, Adam. Not to mention Adam  
Cartwright's kid brother was in the saloon. I had plans of taking both of  
them down when they left town, but the older boy left before the kid, who  
apparently has a thing for women." He chuckled. "So I followed Adam out of  
town a few miles, and took advantage of our being alone. Poor kid."

Joe's chest was heaving up and down in fury, his teeth clenched tightly  
together. "Fiend," he muttered. He would kill Clemens if it was the last  
thing he ever did.

"I figured it'd be Cartwright himself come after me, after he learned that  
I was in town. Then I woulda made him suffer. Instead, I got his hot-headed  
little boy. But I think I like it better this way. I'd like to see Ben  
Cartwright crawl. And I have ways."

A shudder ran through Joe at the cruel malice and hate in Clemens' voice.

"I was thinking," Clemens continued. "That if his oldest boy, Adam lives,  
then he'd get his little boy Joseph back—in a box. But if Adam died, we'd  
get his body…and if he wouldn't give it to us, we'd kill Joe, and ole Ben'd  
never get him back!" At this, the three broke into uproarious laughter.

Joe's face turned white, and he bit his lip so hard he could feel a drop of  
blood roll down. What would his father do? Joe himself was not afraid to die, but he knew if  
Adam died, things could go wrong.

Clenching his eyes shut, he leaned his head back against the wall. "Oh,  
God."

"Ya hear that, kid?" Joe heard Clemens yell from the other room. "Either  
way, one of you die!"

Joe knew that no matter what happened, he wouldn't go out without a fight.  
He glanced around the small, dark, windowless room. If he could get himself  
untied, maybe he could sneak past the men when they were all asleep.

But those hopes were dashed as Frielle stepped in for a moment, then turned  
and shut the door. Joe heard a click as it was locked. He was left alone in  
the dark.

—Next Day—

Ben Cartwright paced the floor, hoping his middle son would soon return  
from town with Little Joe. A feeling of unease crept up his spine as he  
thought of the possibility that his young, foolhardy boy was not in town at  
all, but out looking for the man who had shot Adam. If so, Ben knew that  
the seventeen-year-old could possibly meet much more trouble than he could  
handle.

Ben glanced upstairs where Adam was. Doc Martin had been by earlier, and  
said that with plenty of rest, Adam would be fine. If Joe got himself  
killed, or did something that he would regret for the rest of his life, Ben  
knew he would never forgive himself—he couldn't bare to have one son given  
back to him and then his youngest taken.

At that moment, the door opened, and a large men of about twenty-three  
stepped in, looking worried. He was alone.

"Hoss?" Ben asked, awaiting his son's explanation.

"He's been in town alright, Pa. Early this morning John saw him the hotel.  
Said he was looking for a man named Jed Clemens."

Ben's eyes widened. "Jed Clemens?"

Nodding, Hoss continued, "John said he'd checked out, so he gave Joe the  
forwarding address Clemens had left, and that was the last John saw of  
him." Pulling out a piece of paper from his pocket, Hoss said, "I think  
you'd better read this, Pa. Roy found it on his door just before I came  
into town. He didn't read it because it was in an envelope addressed to  
you, though."

Taking the note with shaky hands, Ben read it. It was short, blunt, and  
heart-breaking. Then end of the note read, 'Don't get the sheriff involved  
or you'll never see your precious boy again.

-JC'

"Have you read this, Hoss?" Ben asked.

Hoss nodded. "Are you gonna go, Pa?"

Ben gave him a short, jerky nod. "Yes, I'm gonna go."

"You know it's probably a trap or something?"

"Yes, Hoss. But I'm going, anyway. Stay here with your brother."

Hoss sighed. "Alright, Pa. If you say, but I you should at least take one  
of the hands along with you.

"No, Hoss. I have to do this alone."

"When are you leaving?"

Ben bit his lip. "Clemens said to meet him at noon tomorrow."

—Previous Day—

"Why're you tellin' him you're somewhere you ain't?" Frielle asked,  
hovering over Clemens shoulder as he wrote the note for Ben.

"Because I am going to be there. Waiting for him. Then I'll bring him here, just in case he decided to tell anybody where he was gonna be. I'd like to see him  
crawl. Like to see him beg me to let his little boy go. And then I'd let him watch  
Little Joseph die. He'd be next."

Moore chuckled. "Boss always had more brains than you did, Matt."

Frielle glared at Moore, but said nothing.

-Two Days Later-

"Well, I'm off, boys," Clemens said. "If I'm not back in four hours, shoot  
the kid."

"Guess we'd better feed the boy," Moore said, standing to his feet as the  
door shut behind Clemens.

A few minutes later the two stepped into the dark room. Frielle lit a  
lantern as Moore crouched down in front of Joe, a bowl in his hands. "Guess  
I'll have to feed you myself. The boss says you're not to be untied."

"I'm not gonna be fed like a baby," Joe growled, letting his pride get in  
the way. "Either untie my hands or you can throw the damn food to the  
horses."

Moore rolled his eyes. "It won't do any good if you starve, boy. We're  
supposed to keep you alive. For now, at least."

Joe pursed his lips stubbornly, refusing to say another word.

"Can't make him eat, Jake," Frielle said. "C'mon. We're wastin' time."

"Yeah, whatever." Moore sighed and stood to his feet, following Frielle out  
of the room. A few moments after they had locked him in, Joe heard a door  
slam, and he realized they had gone outside.

Biting his lip in concentration, Joe brought his arms underneath his legs,  
bringing them up in front of him. He began working on the knots that held  
his ankles together.

Nearly an hour passed before the boy finally managed to loosen the tight  
knot. Grinning in triumph, he slipped the ropes off.

But he knew his hands wouldn't be half as easy. Over two hours passed as  
he painstakingly worked on the ropes that bound his hands, sometimes  
rubbing them against the rough wall to loosen the knots, and other times  
pulling them with his teeth. Finally, the ropes fell away and he sat back,  
sighing in relief. Jumping quietly to his feet, Joe loudly yelled, "Hey, I  
changed my mind! I'm starving in here!"

Grinning to himself, he dashed behind the door. A few minutes later,  
Frielle walked in, then Moore.

They didn't even know what hit them. Taking Moore's gun and the keys to the  
door, Joe hurried out, locking the two in. Tossing the keys into the air  
and catching them, Joe headed toward the door, gun in hand. As he ran  
toward the stable for his horse, he glanced over his shoulder at the small  
shack he'd just left. Suddenly, he bumped into something. He had a  
sickening feeling in his gut as he turned slowly around. He met  
face-to-face with the muzzle of Clemens rifle. Grimacing, he bit his lip.

Without saying a word, Clemens snatched the gun from Joe's hands. His fist  
shot out, spinning Joe around. He crumpled to the ground.

Taking Joe roughly by the arm, he yanked him to his feet and pushed him toward the shack.

Opening the door, Clemens shoved Joe to the floor. "Alright, son. Out with  
it. Where are they?"

Joe said nothing.

Clemens glanced at the door to the room where Joe had been held. "They're  
in there, aren't they?" Without waiting for an answer, Clemens bent down  
and reached into Joe's pockets, pulling out the keys.

"If you've killed them…" he threatened as he unlocked the door.

Joe had lost count of how many times he'd been hit. Blood was coming from  
his nose and running down his lips. His felt as though every inch of his  
face was bruised or bleeding.

He sat on the old bed, his back against the backboard, his wrists tightly  
bound to the bedposts. His ears were ringing, and he felt that at any  
moment he might black out. Just as his vision was dimming, he heard  
Clemens' voice, "Enough, Frielle! Enough. You'll kill him."

"The hell with it!" Joe heard Frielle yell, although his voice sounded  
distant. "I don't give a damn if I do. The stinkin' little bastard." Joe  
felt another backhand to his bruised face.

Clemens grabbed his arm, yanking him away from Joe. "I said stop. You're  
just lucky the kid didn't kill you when he had the chance. Now, if you two  
can calm down, I'll tell you about my little visit with Ben Cartwright."

At this, Joe struggled into a sitting position, and for the first time, he  
realized that his father was not with Clemens.

"Alright, alright," Frielle muttered, sitting down.

"He was there alright, waiting. I told him that if he wanted to see his boy  
again, to meet me here at five PM today. He agreed, so I suppose it's  
settled. Today is the day Cartwright dies."

Joe blanched, a look of fear coming into his green eyes. "Fiends," he  
muttered.

This only earned him a kick in the side from Moore, and the sound of their  
mocking laughter.

"But why didn't you do like you planned" Moore asked. "I mean, take him from that one place to here? Seems safer."

Clemens shrugged. "He wouldn't dare do anything that would risk his boy's life."

The three turned and left the room, leaving Joe alone in the dark to think  
about his fate.

An hour later, Moore came in, cutting the ropes from Joe's wrists. "Jed  
says your father'll be here any minute. he wants you out there." Leading  
Joe into the main room, Moore shoved him into a chair that was facing the  
door, tying his arms to the arms of the chair.

It seemed like an eternity to Joe before the door opened, and Ben  
Cartwright stumbled in, Clemens behind him. "Joseph!" Ben exclaimed at the  
sight of his youngest's abused face.

"Pa!" Joe cried. "Are you alright? You shouldn't have come, Pa. They're  
going to kill you!"

At that, Moore shoved the butt of his rifle into Joe's stomach. "Shut up,"  
he growled.

Joe gasped for breath.

Ben angrily shoved Moore aside, and was at Joe's side in a moment. "What  
have they done to you, boy?" He asked, stroking his son's curls, soaked  
with blood and sweat.

Joe managed a weak, lopsided grin. "I'm fine, Pa," he lied.

"No, you're not, son," Ben said quietly. "You need a doctor."

"Really, Pa," Joe said, his voice equally quiet. "I'll be fine. But you  
shouldn't have come. This was all just a trap. I heard them talking, Pa.  
They're going to kill you."

"I don't care, Joe. I had to see you, even if only for the last time."

Clemens took Ben by the arm, pulling him to his feet. Joe's ropes were cut,  
and Frielle pushed him out the chair with the muzzle of his gun.

As the five walked outside, Joe felt his heart skip a beat as he saw  
Clemens pull a whip from his saddle bag. So they were going to use a whip on his  
father before they killed him. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to hold  
back tears. How could anybody be so cruel?

They walked around to the back of the little cabin where two trees stood  
side by side, only a few feet apart.

Clemens turned to Joe. "Take your shirt off, boy."

Realization hit both Ben and Joe as the latter shrugged off his grey jacket  
and began to slowly unbutton his shirt. The whip was not meant for his  
father, but for him.

Ben stared in horror as Joe's wrists were tied tightly to either tree.  
"No, you can't do this! Let him go!"

Clemens ignored him. "Would you like to do the honors, Jake?" He asked,  
handing Moore the whip.

Joe stared ahead stoically.

"No!" Ben cried as the whip rose and fell on his son's bare back. "No,  
don't hurt him, please. Please."

The whip fell again with a resounding crack. Joe winced, trying to hold the  
tears of pain back. Clemens held up his hand for Moore to stop.

"Will you beg? Get down on your hands and beg me?" Clemens asked, grinning  
insanely. He was clearly enjoying himself.

Joe couldn't help the cry the escaped his lips as once again the whip landed on his  
back.

"Yes," Ben said, falling to his knees.

"No!" Joe cried, staring in horror. "No, Pa! Don't do it!. They'll just  
kill us anyway!" There was a pleading look in his eyes.

"Shut up!" Moore yelled. Joe clenched his eyes shut as the whip fell again.

Ben was on his knees at Clemens feet. "I'm…I'm begging you to cut him down.  
Don't hurt him. Do what you want to me, but please don't hurt my boy.  
Please!"

"Pa, stop it!" Joe yelled, his eyes filled with tears of pain and anger.

"Please!" Ben cried.

By now, Clemens was laughing hysterically. Ben could bare no more. Blindly  
he lunged at Clemens, only one thought in his mind: to kill this man with  
his bare hands.

Frielle's hand went to his side. The shot echoed loudly as Ben fell to the  
ground. Moore came over and crouched down beside Ben, feeling for a pulse.  
"He's dead."

"Oh my God." The tears now fell freely down Joe's face.

Clemens backhanded Frielle in the face. "You fool! I wasn't done with him!"

"He tried to kill you!" Frielle protested in surprise.

"He wasn't even armed! You could have easily pulled him off of me."

By now, Joe had completely forgotten the pain in his back. His father was  
dead. And all it had taken was the slight movement of a mans finger, and he  
was dead. Gone. Forever. Joe couldn't believe it.

He would welcome death with open arms—he was more than ready to go home to  
his mother and father.

Eventually, the attention was turned back to Joe. "Cut him loose," Clemens  
growled. "Then I want you and Jake to bury Cartwright."

"What about him?" Moore asked, nodding at Joe.

"We'll take care of him in the morning," Clemens said. "Right now, I'm too  
mad to do anything."

—

Joe lay on his back on the bed, his hands tied so tightly to the posts that  
the ropes cut into his flesh. A candle burned on the table beside him. But  
tired as he was, he forced himself to stay awake. All his dreams were  
filled with dark nightmares, memories of his father's face just before he  
died, when he fell to the ground. When Moore had said he was dead.

As he lay there, it suddenly occurred to him that death wasn't the path he  
must take if he could help it. He had to avenge his father's, and maybe  
even his brother's, deaths.

And what if Adam did die? Hoss would be alone, with nobody. A hot rage  
filled Joe as he realized that his brother might also die.

Desperately, he glanced around the room looking for anything—anything at  
all that might help him escape.

His eyes fell on a nail sticking out of the side of the bed, just a few  
feet away. He didn't stop to think why a nail was sticking out of the  
bed; just went into action.

Bending his legs, he used his feet to pry the nail out. Pulling himself  
into a sitting position, with the nail tightly between his feet, he managed  
to lay it on the bed beside him. If he could just get it in his hand…taking  
a deep breath, he picked the nail up with his feet again, and reaching up,  
managed to drop it into his left palm after several tries. His hand closed  
tightly around it, and he sat there, breathing heavily, and wondering if he  
had the strength to saw the ropes.

But within a few minutes, he had begun the strenuous task. He moved his  
left hand up and down, the nail always between his wrist and the ropes. It  
took well over three hours, and he imagined that it had to be dark by the  
time he finished his left wrist.

Flexing his free hand, he began to sever the ropes on his right wrist.

Next came his ankles, and he was free.

Jumping from the bed, he tried the door, which was, not to his surprise,  
locked. 'Just have to wait it out,' he thought to himself. Tedious hours  
passed as he waited out the night.

Finally, heard a click, and the door opened. Moore entered, but Joe didn't  
give him a chance to see he was untied. Before long, Joe had him tied and  
gagged. Pocketing the door keys, he took Moore's gun, sticking it in the  
waistband of his pants. Joe crept out the door. He had something special  
planned for Clemens and Frielle. He found them both asleep beside the  
fireplace. He stared down at them for a moment. This was something he'd  
been looking forward to for a long time. And he wanted them to know what  
was happening. He gave them both a hard kick in the side.

Frielle, then Clemens, woke, a dazed and surprised look on their faces.  
"Wha—?"

"Get up," Joe said in a fierce, yet quiet voice. He held Moore's gun aimed  
at them. When neither complied, his voice raised, "get up!"

The two jumped to their feet, shock, anger, and almost fear registered on  
their faces.

"I'm gonna take you both out," Joe said evenly. "Now who wants to go  
first?" There was a strange mixture of anger, hurt, pain in Joe's dark  
green eyes. A kind of fire that could send the chills down a man's spine.

But even as he raised the gun, all that his father had ever taught him came  
back to mind. What would he do if he were standing here right now? His father wouldn't want him to do this. There  
was a battle going on inside Joe's head, and moralism was, seemingly,  
winning out. His hand dropped to his side. "I can't do it," he said quietly. "I'd be no better than either of you."

There was nothing more Joe wanted to do than to kill the stinking,  
murdering scum who had seriously injured his brother and gunned his father  
down, but that would make them just as low as Frielle and Clemens. He'd be a murderer, too. Raising the gun again, Joe said, "Moore's tied up  
in that room." He tossed the keys to Clemens. "Get him out here."

—

Riding all the way to VirginiaCity with three outlaws was a dangerous thing to do,  
Joe knew, but he arrived without mishap. Stopping in front of the sheriff's  
office, Joe dismounted, then helped the three, who were tied up, down from  
their saddles.

After Sheriff Roy Coffee had the men locked up, and Joe had told Roy and  
Clem hiis tragic story, he asked about Adam.

"Adam's just fine," Clem told Joe, hoping this would lift the boy's spirits  
a bit. "He's still in bed, but Doc Martin says he'll be up and around in  
just a few weeks. Just needs a lot of rest."

Joe looked relieved, though the look of sorrow and exhaustion didn't even  
begin to leave his eyes, his face.

Roy lay a hand on Joe's shoulder. "I'm awful sorry about your Pa, Little  
Joe," he said genuinely. "If there's anything I can do…? If you'd like, I  
could send Clem out to…to get his body and bring him back here."

Joe gave him a forced half-smile. Fighting back tears and looking down at  
his hat he held in his hands, he shook his head. "No thanks, Roy. I…I'd  
rather do it myself." He bit his lip, trying to keep it from quivering.

Roy smiled sympathetically. "I understand, son. You want me to tell Hoss?"

Joe, not looking up from his hands, shook his head once again. "It's my  
place to tell him. It's practically my fault it happened…if I'd just left  
Clemens to the law…" at this his voice broke off with emotion. He ran the back of his hand over his eyes.

"Wasn't your fault, Joe," Clem said. "You couldn't and can't control the  
future. That's in God's hands, and you just have to trust in him."

For the first time, Joe looked up, meeting Clem's dark eyes. "Thanks,  
Clem." Without another word for fear he might shame himself in front of the  
two law men, he ducked his head away and left the office.

Once outside, he took hold of the saddle horn and swung into the saddle.

—

It was dusk when Joe finally reached the cabin where he had been held  
captive. Dreading the task before him, he dismounted from Cochise. It  
didn't take him long to locate the grave—just a mound of dirt tossed  
carelessly over the body of a man in a shallow grave.

Finding a shovel, he scooped up a shovelful of dirt, tossing it aside. Then  
another, and another. Before long, Joe had the body completely uncovered.

A tear rolled down his youthful face at the sight of his father's face, so  
cold and gray. And dead. Dead. The word hit Joe like a bombshell. His  
mother had died when he was just a little boy—he'd hardly even known her.  
And now his father. Joe sank to his knees beside his father, his shoulders  
shaking with every sob. Dead. It seemed the word would haunt him for the  
rest of his life.

When he had finally regained his composure, Joe rose to his feet, drying  
his tears with the back of his hand. Lifting his father, he gently lay him  
over Ben's horse's, Buck, back, tying him to the saddle. Mounting his own  
horse, Joe took Buck's reins, and they left for the Ponderosa.

—

Joe glanced up at the dark sky as he led Cochise and Buck into the stable.  
Carefully untying his father from the saddle, he lay him on the hay.

"I'll be back, Pa," he said quietly. Joe left the stable to do the hardest  
thing he had ever done in his life—to tell his brothers that their father  
was dead.

He was not surprised when he stepped into the house to find Hoss awake. He  
was pacing the floor worriedly. He'd been planning to go after his father  
when it became a bit lighter outside.

Glancing up at the door as he heard it open, he stopped in his tracks. "Little  
Joe!" he cried in delight. "Where's Pa?"

Joe walked forward, looking down at his feet, not able to meet his  
brother's expectant eyes.

When Joe didn't answer, Hoss said, "Joe, what's the matter? Isn't Pa with  
you?"

Joe didn't look up. "He's dead."

Hoss stared at him. "What?" Joe didn't reply. Hoss shook his shoulders.  
"What did you say, boy?"

Slowly, Joe's green eyes rose to meet Hoss' blue. "He's dead, Hoss. He's  
dead."

Hoss stared at his little brother in surprise. After a moment, he said,  
"where is he, Joe?"

Joe felt a tear trickle down his already tear-streaked face. "The stable."

As Hoss pushed past Joe, Joe grabbed his arm, stopping him. "Hoss-"

Shaking off Joe's arm, Hoss opened the door and ran out to the barn. Joe  
followed slowly behind.

—

Ben Cartwright's funeral was held the next day. His grave was next to Joe's  
mother, Marie's.

Roy told the Cartwright boys that all three outlaws had been wanted in  
several states for murder. He had wired the circuit judge, and the trial  
would be held in four days.

There was a long line of people, telling the boys how sorry they were and offering any help they might need.  
—

It was four weeks since Ben's murderer's had been hanged. Joe's sorrow had  
turned to rage and depression, and he was as wild as ever. Adam often found  
himself riding into town to pull his baby brother out of some wild saloon  
brawl. Joe practically lived in the saloons, Adam thought. If he didn't  
make it part of his responsibility to ride into town and bring his brother  
home, he wasn't sure if he _would_ come home.

—

"Hey, Little Joe!" Joe Cartwright looked over his shoulder to see a man  
about his father's age standing behind him.

"What do you want, Corby?" Joe growled, not turning around. Marvin Corby was a  
long-time enemy of Ben Cartwright's, jealous of his wealth, land, and a  
loving family.

"I was thinking', now," Corby said evenly, twisting a cigar in his fingers,  
"now that your greedy old man's gone, maybe you boy's would be willing to  
sell me some of your land, for a reasonable price?"

"I wouldn't sell you an acre for all the money in the world," Joe said  
calmly, his back still to Corby as he looked down at the beer glass he was  
turning slowly in his hands. But now, setting the glass down, he turned to  
face Corby, and without a word, he sent a flying punch to Corby's face,  
which set him flat on his backside. "And you just keep your mouth shut  
about my father, you damned bastard," he added.

Corby rose slowly to his feet, glancing over Joe's shoulder.

The next thing Joe knew, somebody had grabbed him by the arm. Spinning him  
around, one of Corby's men sent a punch to Joe's face, knocking him to the  
floor. With wild yells, three more of Corby's men had piled on top of Joe.

"Don't mess with Marvin Corby," Corby muttered, grinning, as Sam, the  
bartender, yelled, trying to get order, but he was unheard.

Joe was unconscious when the saloon doors swung open and Adam stepped in.  
He had a feeling where his younger brother was. Sighing, he pulled his gun from its  
holster, firing a shot into the air. "Alright, that's enough. Everybody  
off!" One by one, he pulled Corby's men off his brother.

"Gimme a glass of water, Sam," he said, kneeling beside Joe and laying his  
head in his lap.

Joe's eyes fluttered open as cold water was sprinkled onto his face. Taking  
him by the arm, Adam pulled him to his feet. He led Joe, staggering, toward  
the saloon exit.

"Yes, sir," Joe heard Corby say behind him. "Old man Cartwright must have  
been some man to have raised a little brat like him."

Joe spun around angrily. "I told you to keep your filthy mouth shut about  
my pa!" Adam grabbed Joe's arm, jerking him back around.

"Come on, Joe," he said quietly.

"He's bad mouthing Pa, Adam," Joe growled angrily, trying to jerk his arm  
free of his older brother's vise-like grip.

"I know," Adam said, not loosening his grip.

Giving up, Joe said, "You should've let me hit him."

Adam sighed. "That's what he wanted. He wanted to provoke you into a fight."

"That's right Adam," Corby called after them. "Take care of baby brother.  
Don't let him get into trouble." Laughter broke out among Corby and his men.

Adam tightened his hold on Joe's arm as he tried to turn. "Drop it, Joe.  
Ignore him."

"I'm tired of being called a baby," Joe fumed as he mounted onto Cochise.  
He looked Adam squarely in the eye. "And I'm tired of you treating me like  
one. I can take care of myself.

"Then maybe you should stop acting like one," Adam said simply. "And a great job you did of taking care of yourself in there." He urged  
his horse forward.

Most of the ride home was quiet, until Adam finally broke the silence; "You  
know you can't go on like this forever, Joe."

Joe had been deep in thought, and when Adam spoke, it sounded as loud as a  
gunshot. His looked up, but said nothing.

"Pa wouldn't want it like this," Adam continued. "We have to go on with our  
lives. Pa's gone. Getting yourself drunk silly and into stupid fights won't  
bring him back," Adam said gently.

"So you just want me to forget, uh?" Joe asked. "Just forget all that  
happened? Well it's not so easy as you might think. You weren't there,  
Adam." Joe's voiced choked. "You weren't there when they shot Pa down like  
a dog. He wasn't even armed!"

"Joe, I didn't say to forget him. I said we need to on with our lives. We  
still have a ranch to run, and Hoss and I can't run it alone. We need your  
help."

"I don't give a damn about the ranch," Joe said. "Sell it, for all I care."

Adam ignored him. "After my mother died, my grandfather told Pa to keep a  
warm place in his heart for her, but not to carry her on his shoulder for  
the rest of his life. And that's what I want you to do for Pa—that's what  
he would want. The past is in the past, Joe. You miss Pa, and so do I. But  
you can't forget that you have family. Family that love you and need you,  
and it won't help them any if you're too caught up in your own grief to love them."

Joe didn't reply as he sat in his saddle, thinking over what Adam had said  
to him.

A few minutes later, as they dismounted, Joe said, "Thanks for talking to  
me, Adam." He smiled."Guess I've been neglecting my work and family lately,  
haven't I? Will your forgive me?"

Adam smiled. "You bet, Joe."

Joe grinned up at Adam. It was the first genuine smile Adam had seen Joe do since their father's death. "Thanks, older brother," he said sincerely.

 **THE** **EN** **D**

A/N Hey, hope you liked this! Please comment, and feel free to crtiique, just be nice about it. Thanks so much for taking the time to read this!

~Angie


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